#so now i will be trudging around with this ugly art while everyone stares at me with hatred

[koko2unite]

[notkijoon]

@eventied / daeun june 2024, pre-camper orientation week

it's the last day of counselor training week and the late june humidity and monsoon season are rearing their ugly heads earlier than expected. it's a toss up between sweat soaked t-shirts or frizzed hair. some days, like today, it's both; after four years of dry heat in the desert, kijoon had forgotten just how annoying the weather in korea could be this time of year.

being a first year counselor meant long days of sitting outside in the stifling heat to listen to cheaply canned pep talks to the group of some twenty year olds that showed no signs of life in their tired eyes. each day was a ten-hour crash course of something different; today, kijoon and his cohort of art counselors were trained on camper success and all the numerous ways to approach the growing concern for young people's' mental healths.

so what about us? he wants to raise his hand from the back corner and ask. what if these kids are the ones who drive everyone else fucking insane?

of course that's not a concern that's brought up, obviously. because once you're an adult, nobody gives a shit when life slowly starts eroding your sanity and it's not until snap! you just can't keep it bottled up anymore and you lose your shit on someone who probably, frankly, deserves it. and then everyone will think you're the bad guy and wonder just how it was ever possible you got to that point in the first place. it's almost like everyone else around you is operating on some other wavelength and never taught you how to switch frequencies.

by the time five rolls around, kijoon's head is pounding from a mix of the weather combined with hours of listening to one of the camp directors drag on and on for so long. he's starving but he would rather jump into a dirty lake filled with snapping turtles and snakes than have to sit with other counselors in the dining hall and have small talk. there's nothing worse than the idea of having to eat around a group of strangers and pretend he's having fun.

with a sad purchase of a can of pringles from the vending machine a short while later, kijoon trudges back to the cabins. he remembers thankfully he packed some packs of ramyeon for emergency cases, which is the only thought currently keeping him from the brink of extincting himself from existence just as he steps his sandals into a small puddle of wet dirt. once he makes it back inside, back into the cabins that aren't that great but make up for it with air conditioning, he enters his shared room with daeun, another potential source for making his headache worse.

"hey," he greets him once he's rid himself from the sensory overload of wet socks and sandals. kijoon pales in comparison to his roommate and now camp saesori two-timing returning alum. maybe it's just his imagination, but no matter the conditions of the elements outside — whether it be rain, thunderstorms, a fucking tornado even — he swears daeun never has a hair out of place. for a moment he just stares at the little blob of blankets and blonde hair playing his switch on the television. kijoon's long bob had disheveled itself all over on his walk back in the monsoon and a small twig had found a new home on the crown of his head. the two contrast each other so well, it's almost comedic.

kijoon tosses the can of pringles onto his mattress, sighing quietly in defeat. all he wants to do is eat and knock out for the next fourty-eight hours before the campers arrive for opening day. "i don't know how you made it through all this last year. i'm already exhausted and summer session hasn't even started yet."

[angelsunflowers-fanfics]

Nathan Prescott x Female!reader (The Sketchbook incident)

Request: I had this idea for a Nathan Prescott and female reader imagine where he’s secretly her muse and she drawing him every day in her sketchbook but one day he sees and destroys her sketchbook and she gets so upset she stops drawing and he feels bad and realizes how special it was to her and buys her a new one Sorry if that long, it’s my first time Also love your writing <3

Fandom: Life is strange

Genre: Mix of Angst and fluff (Happy ending)

Linktree

~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Rough sketches, pencil marks, pen and an assortment of colors rubbed onto her fingers and arms as she shaded in a certain area of the model, of her picture of Nathan. As an artist, (y/n) needed a muse and without his knowledge, she had chosen Nathan Prescott to be it. She didn’t know how he’d react if he even found out. Would he be embarrassed? Angry?

Who knew?

(y/n) grunted in an effort as she finally finished shading the base of Nathan’s neck in her beloved sketchbook. The book itself had been used and filled up to the brim with photographs and sketches of the school, her friends but most importantly, of Nathan.

The two didn’t talk very often, but she saw how soft he could actually be; in the little moments, he let his facade vanish. She wanted to be closer to him, but�� How do you approach a person like that? Not to mention, that he had a reputation for going too far.

(y/n) pulled herself away from the sketch, glancing around at the yard to admire everyone enjoying life peacefully.

Max was talking to a few people as always, being a bit nosy, but nice. Evan was taking pictures, Warren was probably watching another weird movie of his in his dorm. Everything was pretty normal except for Nathan Prescott storming up to (y/n) with rage-filled eyes and clenched fists. He was angry, anybody within 50 feet of his could see that. He was too obvious with his anger, didn’t even try to hide it.

(Y/n) gave a polite smile to the obviously Pissed off Prescott, nervous about what he might say or do. He could be a bit unpredictable. He stopped in front of her, glaring at the large sketchbook in her hands.

“Good morning Nathan. Lovely day, isn’t it?” (y/n) asked. 

Nathan only continued to glare harshly, the students in the surrounding area began to stare In curiosity.

No one dared to say a word, they didn’t want the wrath of Nathan directed toward them.

He dug a hand into his pocket to fish out his phone, he found the photo that could be the cause of his anger of the day and shoved it into (y/n’s) face. It took her a moment to realize that the photograph was of one of her drawings of Nathan.

And she knew exactly how it got onto the web. Victoria Chase.

“What the fuck is this?” He asked, anger seethed into his words.

(y/n) nervously laughed but soon stared up at his eyes. Those gorgeous blue eyes and that pretty dirty blonde hair wasn’t helping. It was the perfect combination. There didn’t need to be a reason as to why she liked to draw him so much, the pretty face and different expressions he used in day-to-day life were amazing. So was he. (y/n) wanted to find a way to tell him that she actually liked him but knowing Nathan, she wasn’t sure if he would recuperate her feelings.

“Um, a drawing of you that I made… Nathan, I’m sorry. I showed it to Victoria, I didn’t know that she took a picture and posted it online,” She confessed. 

The taller boy slowly pocketed his phone before he grabbed the sketchbook out of (y/n)’s nimble fingers. 

“Wait, what are you doing?” (y/n) asked, panic seeped into her chest.

Nathan tossed the sketchbook into the trash can before lighting a match, (y/n) stood up quickly knowing what he was going to do. (y/n) rushed to him, trying to grab the match out of his hand but failing in the end as he dropped it into the trash can watching the sketchbook go up in flames.

The students surrounding (y/n), stared at her with empathy but didn’t say a word. Nathan slowly turned to (y/n), crossing his arms over his chest. He still looked angry, even after destroying the one thing that (y/n) held precious.

“I’m not your subject to use,” Nathan growled.

Nathan glanced into (y/n)’s eyes just in time to see her tears building up and drip from the pools in her eyes. Nathan felt a strike go through his heart, guilt. An ugly emotion that he felt all too often, but now toward (y/n)? Someone who was actually nice to him no matter what other people told her?

He clenched his jaw in anger, this time toward himself. He watched as (y/n) slowly turned around and walked into the dormitory building, needing to be alone for a while. He made her cry. Nathan Prescott made (y/n) cry. He messed up, big time. Was there even a way to fix what he broke?

The group surrounding Nathan slowly disbanded, not wanting his anger to blow up again in such a short period of time. 

Nathan was left alone with his thoughts, he ran a hand over his face and picked up his phone as it rang. Victoria. Fuck, what was he supposed to say?

“Hey,” Nathan whispered, his voice hoarse. 

Nathan slowly trudged back to his own dorm, he had thinking to do indeed. How was he going to make this up?

“Nathan, what the hell happened? Did you burn her sketchbook? I told you to go talk to her. There are videos all over social media… The comments are brutal,” Victoria said. 

Nathan barreled into his room and sat on his bed, running a hand through his hair to tangle it lightly. He didn’t know what he was thinking. If he was thinking at all during that moment. The sketchbook that he burned… sketchbook, maybe he could try to make it up by buying her another one? It was a start…

Nathan and Victoria conversed over his previous actions and how he could fix them while (y/n) on the other side of the dormitory building, stared out the window, wanting to fly away to get away from these gross feelings. Even after what happened, she still liked him. Anybody that found out about her feelings would call her insane. She had no will to draw anymore, what was the point if her own muse didn’t want to be drawn? Right?

She fumbled with her fingers lightly before glancing at her watch, great. She had physics in 10 minutes, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about art for a while now. She slowly grabbed the bag she threw onto the ground and slowly left the dormitory building, hesitantly. If it were her choice, she’d stay in her dorm all day, but she didn’t.

She slowly trudged into the academic building and into her class, wait. No. Nathan was in this class as well, how did she not realize that sooner? (y/n) ignored Nathan’s pleading stare and sat next to Victoria, hoping for some peace and quiet before class started.

“He feels awful you know. I know what he did was terrible but–” (y/n) shrugged her shoulders, cutting off Victoria’s plea.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m done,” (y/n) whispered. 

Victoria glanced to Nathan, giving him a pity look before turning her attention to the front of the class as it finally began. Maybe she and Nathan could try again later.

The class was boring and dull. All Nathan could think about was how to make it up to (y/n). For over a year now he had been trying to get closer to her but each time he talked, everything just blew up in his face. 

The bell for the end of class finally rung, Nathan quickly shoved all of his things into his bag before trying to talk to (y/n). She was almost out the door now. So close. Nathan maneuvered to be right in front of her, using his arms to block her from leaving before talking to her.

“Wait, just stop for a second. Look, I feel real–” Nathan spoke, regret spilled from his lips. 

(y/n) glanced around the room for a moment before ducking under one of his arms and leaving, using his height to her advantage. Nathan blinked for a few moments before leaving the classroom and trying to find a sight of her but (y/n) had quickly disappeared into the crowd of rowdy teenagers. 

“Fuck,” Nathan whispered to himself. 

The crowd slowly began to disperse as teenagers found their next class or left the building but there was still no sign of (y/n) anywhere. Nathan groaned and slowly walked back to his dorm to try to figure a way to talk to (y/n).

(y/n) on the other hand, was holding her breath as she watched Nathan walk past her hiding spot and to the dormitory building. She stood out of the spot and started to walk to her own dorm when she bumped into Kate Marsh, she was an absolute sweetheart.

“Hey, (y/n). I heard about what happened. Are you alright?” Kate asked.

(y/n) brushed her hair back stressfully, she didn’t even know where to begin in what was wrong at the moment. So many things. Too little time.

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t expect him to do that. I’m kind of thinking of giving up drawing,” (y/n) mentioned. 

Kate’s eyes widened slightly but that didn’t stop her from pulling a brand new sketchbook from behind her back. (y/n) was slow to grab the item, she had been thinking about not going to Blackwell anymore because of what happened.

“Well, in case you want to pick it up again. You can use that. Okay? Maybe things will turn out alright?” Kate offered.

(y/n) gave Kate a genuine smile before gesturing to the dorms, “I’m gonna head to my room for the night. I’ll see you later.” 

Kate stepped out of the way and watched as (Y/n) carried the sketchbook naturally and quickly walked to her dormitory. But what she didn’t know was that all of the girls in the dormitory building had a little surprise in store for her.

(y/n) rubbed her eyes tiredly and walked through the main door of the dormitory to see all of the girls crowding the hallway bearing gifts of the art variety; sketchbooks, pencils, markers, etc. She jumped back lightly at the picture in front of her.

“Um, hey?” (y/n) asked akwardly.

Max was the first to walk out and grab one of (y/n)’s hands, guiding her to the center of the hallway to talk to everyone. (y/n) wasn’t normally very social but with the girls that live in the same building as her? Quite close.

“The video of Nathan burning your sketchbook is everywhere… we just wanted to do something nice for you,” Max said. 

(y/n) smiled gratefully and took more sketchbooks from her neighbors. She knew that they were only trying to help but how could someone draw if their muse didn’t want to be a muse? It was difficult to find someone else.

Max grabbed half of the gifts from all of the girls and followed (y/n) into her dorm to put all of the gifts on her desk. She didn’t know if she’d even fill these out at all considering that her will to draw was drained because of what Nathan did…

“Oh, I get it… Nathan was your muse…” Max set everything down, taking a seat on (y/n)’s bed before continuing with her thought, “That’s why you’re not drawing… he gave you the will to draw…” Max gave her friend one last smile before approaching the exit of the dorm. “Oh, before I forget, Warren had something to talk to you about. He’s In his dorm.”

(Y/n) stared at all of the art supplies given to her a few short minutes ago. It was stacked high on the desk, about to topple over. She was happy that her friends cared so much.

Without much thought, (y/n) walked to the boys’ dormitory building to visit a friend. Hopefully, she wouldn’t run into Nathan. She just needed to be careful.

(y/n) walked through the main door to the dormitory building and made a beeline for Warren’s room, she didn’t even bother with knocking on the sophomore’s door and just let herself in. She didn’t want to be caught by Nathan again. She was not ready to face him.

“Warren? Max, said you wanted to see me?” (y/n) called out.

The younger student quickly popped out of his desk chair and strolled up to (y/n), arms spread out for a bear hug. He was the most touchy of the group of friends she had, which was perfectly fine. (y/n) gave him a soft smile before slowly closing the gap and letting him hold her fragile form.

“Everyone said you were having a hard time and then Nathan… I’m sorry. Maybe everything will be better soon?” Warren apologized sympathetically.

(y/n) could only shrug lightly before slowly pulling away, letting herself become comfortable in the small room. But the thought of being in the boy’s dormitory, where Nathan lived, was peaking from the back of her mind. Warren stepped out of her space for a moment before grabbing a pack of oil paints from his desk and slowly handing them to (y/n); cautious to not scare her. 

“I got you something, you said that you’ve been wanting to try oil paint for a while now, right?” Warren said.

Though, she wasn’t sure when or if she’d be able to draw again, she appreciates the kind gesture. (y/n) slowly slipped the paints into her bag for safekeeping as she slowly gave Warren a small smile.

“Thanks, Warren… I think I’m gonna head back to my dorm… Sleep everything off. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The younger classmate only nodded lightly and watched as (y/n) slowly walked out of the room to hide away for the rest of the evening. The events of the day were hectic and cruel, all she wanted to do was sleep it off and hope that the morning would be better.

(y/n) peaked around the hallway for a few moments before deciding that it was safe and leaving Warren’s room before heading toward the main entrance of the Dorm building, wanting to find her own dorm before Nathan caught onto the fact that she was even in the same building as him. 

She breathed a small sigh of relief as she slowly started to pass the last dorm room and reached a hand out for the door when a pair of hands reached out from the last dorm and grabbed (y/n) to pull her inside.

(y/n) started thrashing in the arms of her unknown attacker as they placed a hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream out for help. (y/n) stiffened as an exhale slowly reached her ear, causing her to shiver and listen closely.

“Stop squirming, It’s just me.” 

(y/n) roughly shoved Nathan away and faced him, her back pressed against the door. She stared up at him with a confused stare, why did he basically kidnap her? What for? He was fidgeting with his fingers nervously, he was scared to what will come next.

Her eyes were red and puffy from crying all day. The last thing she wanted to do was face the cause of her sorrow. Nathan Prescott, prestigious figure of Blackwell Academy… he was flustered by her mere appearance. He felt guilty about what happened this morning, he felt lower than low. To make it up to (y/n), Nathan wanted to get something for her… all she needed to do was open it.

“What do you want, Nathan? I should get back to my dorm, it’s late,” (y/n) said resentfully.  

It was not late, but everyone knew that (y/n) usually liked to return to her dorm after school and relax instead of partying like all of the other kids on campus.

Nathan took a step back to grab a wrapped box before presenting it to (y/n), a red hue was covering his features. He had never really apologized to someone, this was a first for him. Luckily, it was in the comfort of his own room and not the courtyard for everyone to see… again.

“Open it, please. This is my way of saying sorry… I… wasn’t thinking… I can be reckless and irritable…” He apologized.

(y/n) stared up at Nathan with an unknown look, she was not sure if she should take the gift. It could be anything, right? But Nathan didn’t go around giving just anybody random gifts… Maybe he really just wanted to try to redeem himself?

(y/n) ran a quick hand through her hair before making the mistake of glancing into Nathan’s eyes for a split second. His gaze was soft and pleading as he held the gift in his hands, his breath shaking only in the slightest from the nervousness of being near (y/n) once again; so soon.

“Fine… But if this is a joke–” (y/n) started to threaten but Nathan cut her off by carefully handing the recklessly wrapped gift into (y/n)’s paint-covered hands, their fingers brushed together lightly. The action quickly sent jolts of electricity through her and Nathan’s veins but neither person said a word about what they felt, too scared.

“It’s not. Promise. Open it,” Nathan said. 

(y/n) sighed lightly but gave him a half-smile before slowly opening the present before her hands run over the cover of a brand new sketchbook. Did he buy her a new sketchbook? She slowly let the wrapping paper fall to the floor so she could look at the sketchbook as whole, quickly glancing through the paper and the little accessories attached to it. (y/n) didn’t say a word as she discovered the feeling of the new gift. 

“I was angry and scared… Not about you or anything you did or said… I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I would never dream of doing that,” Nathan apologized.

(y/n)’s smile brightened as she realized that this was the sketchbook that she had been eyeballing for months now. She wasn’t able to buy it because it was far out of her price range for a sketchbook, but this one was special. It even came with pockets and sketching pencils. She glanced up and slowly placed the sketchbook onto his desk to grab both of his hands in her gentle grip.

“Nathan… I-” He was quick to cut her off, paranoid that she was going to yell at him like just about everyone in his life did. He was too used to it by now.

“I know that this will never replace what I did to your last sketchbook and I didn’t realize that I was your… Your muse. But I’m hoping that this will be a star–” 

(y/n) reached her hands up to grab Nathan’s face to slam her lips onto his, surprising him surely. Nathan flailed his arms for a few moments before deciding to rest his hands; one on the door next to (y/n)’s head and the other tangled in her hair. Nathan slowly relaxed into the motions, pressing his body closer to (y/n)’s.

Nathan tugged on (y/n)’s hair as he deepened the kiss, eliciting a soft moan from (y/n)’s lips. Before Nathan could ponder on the small action further, she bit down on his bottom lip. She wanted him to know how long she had been wanting this kiss to happen.

Nathan felt the same way, but before things could escalate, (y/n) softly slid her hands from Nathan’s face down to his chest to lightly push him away. She didn’t want things to go too far tonight.

“I forgive you… I was never angry at you for what you did, just sad. It hurt to see my muse destroy my work but maybe you can help me?” (y/n) asked.

Nathan didn’t say a word as he launched himself to his bed, propping his head up with one of his hands as he brought one of his knees up; turning to the side to face (Y/n). a small smirk ignited his face as he says the simple line that made (y/n) burst out laughing.

“Draw me like one of your french girls.”

(y/n) ignored her phone as it lit up with a few texts from Warren and Max, both worried. But she couldn’t be bothered with the sweet scene in front of her.

Maybe everything would be okay?

(y/n) glanced up from her sketchbook to get a quick glance, the growing confidence in him caused Nathan to send a small smile her way.

Yep, everything was going to turn out okay. Her muse was still hers, this time with his knowledge.

Nathan liked the idea of being a muse, it felt foreign but fitting.

[master-of-cosmos]

👀!!

:D!!

long snippet cause i feel bad about how long it’s gonna take to update tms…

~~~

Nya startles awake, gasping.

Cole’s hand on her shoulder squeezes in comfort as he says, “Hey, sorry. The storm passed.”

Rubbing her eyes, she casts a glance to the mouth of the cave. It’s tranquil out there now. The snow glittering in the clear sunlight would be beautiful if it didn’t fill her with so much apprehension.

Just outside, Jay steadies himself on his good leg, Lloyd beside him with a supportive hand at his back. They both turn their heads to give her small smiles. She returns it with a nod and accepts Cole’s hand up.

Still sitting against the wall, Kai’s resting his head on his knees drawn close to his chest. The measure of his breathing and the way he’s gripping his arm betrays how much pain he must be in.

It makes her feel sick. If she’d done something different, maybe– No, now’s not the time to start all that. They have to stay the course, find better shelter, not to mention food and anything to help with the injuries they’re already racking up, and…and Zane. Where are they even supposed to look? She glances around as they resume their trek, mentally cursing the wasteland of a realm. If only they still had the Bounty–

“Quit it,” she mutters to herself, cutting off the thought with a sharp shake of her head.

Evidently trudging close enough to hear her, Cole ribs, “Talking to yourself now too, huh?”

More slowly, she shakes her head again, huffing, “Yeah, sorry.” Looking behind her, she checks on Jay in Kai’s place on Lloyd’s shoulder. Her brother’s lagging, but thankfully he’s moving better than he was a few hours ago. The respite did them all some good, and with the wind gone for now, the temperature’s almost bearable. Turning back to Cole, she says, “I’m just…worried, y’know.”

Crossing his arms around his chest, he scoffs, “I’ll say. Never thought I’d miss the First Realm. At least it was warm.”

“Okay, okay,” Jay pipes up, “if you had to live in one of the sixteen realms, what would it be?”

“Easy. Nin–” Lloyd starts.

Jay bumps him. “Other than Ninjago.”

“Uh.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to go with the First one,” Cole decides while Lloyd fumbles on his choice. “If you’ve got enough water and never knew the joys of cake, it’s pretty cool.”

Catching up to the group as the two ahead slow down, Kai says, “Nah, you’re dead wrong, Cole. The Underworld’s the cool one.”

Jay gives a sarcastic laugh at that, calling everyone’s attention back to him. “Does anybody here have, I don’t know, brains to pick a place where they at least keep the monsters out of sight? And doesn’t have giant spiders, might I add.”

Nya shoots him a chiding look, but the admonishment turns into a feeling of guilt for her, so she glances away before he notices.

“Yeah, like where?” Kai retorts.

“Uhhh, Cloud Kingdom?” is his answer, the sarcasm dripping from Jay’s overemphasis on each syllable.

Kai clicks his tongue, nodding at the sky. “Man, who wants to sit around writing people’s destinies and wearing ugly robes all day? Lame.”

Jay rolls his eyes before finally turning them on Nya, questioning her.

She gives it a second of thought and says, “Well, we’re all gonna go to the Departed Realm one day. Guess I’ll pick that one.”

Jay’s raised eyebrows shoot up higher on his face. “Nya, you know I’m crazy about you, but that’s just as morbid as Kai’s.”

Smirking, she shrugs. “You asked.”

“I guess Zane would like this one,” Lloyd mumbles, gazing at the snow crunching under his feet.

Not letting him get the mood down, Jay jerks his shoulders to fix his posture and says, “I assume you guessing for him means you’ve picked yours now?”

“I, uh, I dunno,” Lloyd says with a smile. “I saw a lot of them, but they were nothing like Ninjago, so yeah.”

“Kill joy.”

“Heh, sorry.”

A moment or two of silence passes as they keep walking.

“Wait,” Lloyd says as he briefly halts their progress, eyebrows scrunching. “No, there was…um.” He releases Jay’s wrist to press his palm to the side of his face, staring into the middle distance.

“What?” Cole asks.

“I’m just- There’s one I kinda remember.” Whispering to himself, his fingers move to his chin as he thinks out loud, “Was it the animal people?”

“I’m sorry, the what people?” Jay giggles, leaning his head down, ear pointed at the one who’s too busy wracking his brain to respond.

After a few seconds, Lloyd sighs and says, “Huh, never mind. Maybe I made it up.”

Kai watches him with a tight frown. His eyes meet Nya’s, and he plasters on his easy smile instead, doing his own quick glance away.

“Okay, but I want to know about the animal people,” Jay declares.

While Lloyd regales them with the scant details he has of the strange realm, Nya side-eyes the trees. She’s been feeling a prickle at the back of her neck since they left the cave, that age old sensation of being watched.

She’s not the only one who noticed it, either. Every few yards, the small distance between the five drifts in closer, their banter growing more agitated and less wordy as they focus on maintaining vigilance.

Another half hour of that and at her wits end, Nya shouts, “Ooh, just come out already!”

Silence answers her muted echo. Just deep, gusty silence.

~~~

the prompt says art too and this has been sitting for months, so i guess it counts:

[specswritesstuff]

A little continuation of my last fic for these two, the middle school dance one. It’s awhile in the future, a year or two I’d say!! This is for fun so there will be errors!!! Feel free to let me know what you think!

((Fruk: Dating isn’t easy))

Being a freshman in an American highschool wasn’t too easy. Being a 5’5 native French speaker wasn’t too easy either when he was surrounded by fluent English speakers and huge football players. Highschool was intimidating...But what was more intimidating for Francis was love

Of course an Englishman had won his heart. Francis’ neighbor, Arthur Kirkland, has lived in America a bit longer than Francis had. They grew up fighting with sticks instead of swords, spending the night at eachothers houses and baking on rainy afternoons. Middle school separated them a bit. Sure they went to their dance together, that was lovely, but they both did things after school resulting in less time for them to spend together.

Francis had fencing lessons and he ran his school’s art club...Arthur was the head of student council so they rarely saw eachother. Naturally, Francis wanted to make things different. He’d made an effort all year to be talking to Arthur. He joined student concil with him, walked home with him and always made sure to listen to all of those wild stories Arthur had. “You wouldn’t even believe it, Francis. Mr. Thorne gave me a C- on that math quiz! Utter bullocks I tell you” “Ah, you still did better than me on that, cher”

Once they warmed back up to eachother again...They found themselves hanging out more. Arthur would have Francis over for dinner- The Kirkland household was very disorganized with its six kids- and Francis would have Arthur over on the weekends to watch stupid American movies together. Usually they fell asleep on eachothers shoulders...

Of course Francis just adored this! He had missed his best friend...They lived next door to eachother yet they barely spoke but now? Now they were close like before.

“Cher?” Francis murmured, laying on Arthur’s bed with the sheets pulled around his shoulders. Arthur was doing his chemistry homework, biting the end of his pen in thought

“Hm..?”

“Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I like your house more-“

“Well- I mean as something else...”

“Like a date then..?” They looked up at eachother, stupid blushes rising on their cheeks

“It’s fine if you don’t want to, don’t feel compelled to say yes-“

“No! No I do want to come. What time..? Tomorrow is a Saturday so Dylan has lacrosse...” Arthur pushed his hair out of his face, rubbing the back of his neck nervously

“How about five?” Francis offered, earning a nod from Arthur in return. He laid back down with a dorky smile, turning away a bit so Arthur couldn’t see

••••

When morning rolled around, the Bonnefoy household was turned upside down. Francis was a whirlwind cleaning. He put little Michelle in her room “If you come out before I’m done cleaning the vacuum will eat you!”...Of course Mrs. Bonnefoy did not approve of that. Their house had to look perfect though, Francis refused to let it look like a pig pen. He found Cheerios in the couch cushions, change on their kitchen floor and...A bunch of ripped up tissues around the trash can.

Francis spent all morning cleaning and once one o’clock hit, he started on the desert he’d share with his Englishman. A cheesecake, Francis’ favorite treat, with strawberries and blueberries, Arthur’s favorite fruits. His parents helped him prepare the beef stew he planned on serving and his sisters collected flowers, and weeds, from the garden for to make a somewhat ugly boquet.

Everyone was in good spirits. Francis’ parents were excited for this little date. They’ve known the Kirklands for eight years now and they’ve always thought that Arthur was a wonderful young lad. Francis’ sisters were having fun helping decorate, making sure to chirp “Franny’s having a date~ Franny’s having a date~” over and over as they tied flowers with ribbons. Everything was just going to be perfect.

Francis got his family to eat in the kitchen while he took over the dining room, lighting his coconut scented candles and dimming the lights like he saw in movies. He combed his hair for the billionth time and put his contacts in, obsessing over the time. It was four thirty...

He messed around with his retainer, clicking the little container for it open and closed for awhile before hiding it in the bathroom. Five o’clock.

Francis stood at the door, peeking out of the peephole, just waiting for him to arrive...

Five thirty...Francis was pacing, his family watching with sad but encouraging smiles “He’ll he over soon, garçon, it isn’t like him to forget” He shrugged at his papa, deciding to pace in the dining room instead.

Six o’clock. The food was now cold...Francis put it in the oven to try to warm it up but he knew that it wouldn’t taste as good now that he’d left it cold for too long

Six thirty. His sisters came to keep him company, sitting at the dining room table with him “He’ll come! Maybe he’s just nervous!” Francis sighed and rubbed his face “Maybe...”

Eight thirty rolled around soon enough. Michelle and Angelique were sent to bed and Francis’ parents made their way into the dining room, frowning at their son who was staring at his candle, his eyes dull...sad

“Francis...Bebe, I think...I think you should put this in the fridge” “But he might be coming-!” “Francis...” the teenager looked up at his parents and scoffed, standing abruptly to hurry past them, practically running up the stairs to slam his bedroom door behind him. Francis threw himself onto his bed and cried softly...Why did he ever think this would work...He checked his phone, no new messages. Not even anything from Arthur...

“Idiot...Why did I think this was a good idea...”

••••

Arthur had been trying to call Francis all morning. He knew Francis was seeing his calls...He was just sending him to voicemail each time

Eventually, he’d had enough. Arthur threw a jacket on over his pajamas and walked over the driveway that separated their houses, knocking on the Bonnefoys’ door

Francis’ papa was the one who answered, a shorter man with black hair pulled back into a ponytail “Oh...Arthur. I don’t think Francis wants to see you” Arthur frowned “Is he awake?” “Oui, uh...He told me not to let you in”

Arthur rubbed his face “Mr. Bonnefoy...I’ve been trying to get ahold of him all morning, I swear...Im just here to apologize” Mr. Bonnefoy relented, calling inside for Francis to come downstairs. Arthur could barely understand, he hadn’t taken French lessons since sixth grade.

Francis trudged down the stairs in his pink robe, his hair in foam curlers and bags under his eyes, glaring daggers at Arthur. His papa left them alone, Francis crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame, staring expectantly at him

“Well?”

“Francis, Love-“ “Don’t ‘love’ me Arthur! Do you know what you did?-“ “I know! I know i should have called-!” “You made me look like an absolute fool in front of my family! I spent all day getting ready for you and this is what I get-?” “Francis you know I didn’t mean to miss this-!” “You should have called or something! Idiot! Don’t you know what a cellphone is?! I waited for you until almost nine o’clock last night! I just sat and waited for you because I just hoped that last night would not just be a terrible failure! I wanted it to be special because I miss doing things with you! I made you a cheesecake dammit!” He covered his face and Arthur felt his heart break.

He pulled Francis into a hug and sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head on his shoulder “I’m sorry...I really am sorry...Yesterday was so busy...Dylan had his game, Allistor popped our tire...Peter got lost in the mechanic’s...My parents insisted that we went to Wendy’s for dinner...We didn’t get home until almost eleven and...We’ll I guess I’d hoped you would still be up. Your house’s lights were all off when I got there though...”

Francis held onto him loosely, sighing and listening though he was still rather upset “You never told me...” “I know...” “You owe me...”

Arthur pulled back and ran his hands over Francis’ back soothingly “How about I take you to Olive Garden?” “How about you come in and just have cheesecake for breakfast with me instead?”

They both smiled at eachother and Francis tugged Arthur inside. He couldn’t stay mad at him forever...It was better to just let it go than to hold a grudge. And to be quite honest, it felt so good to be with Arthur again. Arthur promised not to do that again...And Francis promised that if Arthur did leave him hanging like that again, he would never cook for him again

:)

((Just a little warmup lol I haven’t really written on here in awhile!! 😅😅))

[countryole]

Explain The Infinite

Read it here at Archive Of Our Own or over here at Fanfiction.net.

Title: Explain The Infinite Rating: T

"It terrifies him to think that in almost no time at all he will be a father, that they will be parents." Love is infinite, and all encompassing. Lorna and Marcos find out just how true that really is.

Marcos is exhausted.

The past week has been nothing but transport runs with John, ferrying refugee mutants to different stations outside of Georgia. They are taking them to safety, away from the heat of Sentinel Services and their relentless pressure to find the Mutant Underground in Atlanta. They were once a safe haven, a place of sanctuary, but with stations throughout the state failing, falling to Sentinel Service raids, it’s only a matter of time before they have to face the inevitable and fight back.

So for days on end Marcos has loaded broken families into tractor trailers to be smuggled across state lines, comforted crying children in the shadows of crawl spaces, all the while praying--desperately--that their effort is not in vain, that their lives will be saved.

He trudges up the HQ stairs to his and Lorna's bedroom, running a hand over his face, his weeks-unshaven beard scragglier than usual, dark circles permanently imprinted under his eyes. He hasn't slept enough, and when he can sleep he hasn't been able to. There's too much at stake, too much that could happen, for his mind to allow him the luxury of fitful rest. When he does manage to close his eyes the nightmares are there to greet him—monsters everywhere, rearing their ugly heads.

He slips quietly as he can through their bedroom door, his shadow stretching across the room, dancing along the far wall with the lamplight that glows from their bedside table. Lorna leaves it on for him until he comes back. Above their bed the art he'd made for her greets him, a metallic aurora, vibrant and bright. She's curled up on the bed below it, burrowed into the pillows on his side, peacefully asleep for the first time in months. Marcos sighs, thankful for small mercies.

He strips out of his clothes in the bathroom, quietly washes his face, forever being watched by the man in the mirror across from him. Marcos balances his hands on the unsteady sink, staring back at his reflection. He looks older, or at least he thinks he does, as if the last seven months have aged him faster than they should have. He contemplates shaving, wondering if it will make him look less tired, less wild. He decides against it, like he often does, choosing to save what little energy he has for anything but himself.

"Hey, I tried to wait up for you."

Marcos turns, finding Lorna propped against the door frame. Her green hair is mussed and messy as she stretches her arms and smiles, green eyes sleepy and warm. The t-shirt of his that she's wearing is doing very little to hide the visible rise of her stomach. At almost thirty weeks, it's obvious now that she's pregnant, though still small by most standards according to Caitlin. Marcos has done nothing but marvel at the way her body has changed, and even now he can't help but stare at her openly, forever enchanted by the most beautiful thing in the world.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," he reaches for her hand, and she comes to him, happy to oblige.

"I'm glad I did," Lorna yawns, stepping into his arms and resting her head against his chest. She hums in contentment when he tangles one hand in her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "I missed you."

When they were first together, being separated for days or weeks at a time was the norm, but the closer they've gotten to the baby arriving, the harder it's gotten to withstand any sort of physical distance. Lorna's been put on the equivalent of house arrest, something they all agreed to for her safety, as well as the safety of everyone else. It kills her not to go with him when he leaves, forced to stay behind, being on the sidelines of the action synonymous with her version of hell. There's also the ever looming worry that every time Marcos leaves HQ for a supply run, for a refugee transfer, for medical supplies, there's a chance he might not come back.

"Were you sick today?" He asks. Her eyes drop, and her lips twist down in a frown.

"A little," she admits, "mostly just dizzy. Cait checked on me all day though."

"You're sure everything's fine?" Marcos' brow knits in worry, and Lorna reaches up to touch his face, trying to reassure him. She’s struggled more in these later months than she did in the early parts of her pregnancy, much to Marcos’ and Caitlin’s dismay.

"Everything's fine.”

Lorna's conviction lacks it's usual surety, her words laced with worry instead. Uncertainty is uncharacteristic of the fearless, frightful woman known as Polaris throughout the Mutant Underground. It's a sign weakness, and weakness is something Lorna hates. Admitting to it is something she hates even more.

"Let's go to bed," Marcos worries his thumb against her neck, "we can sleep in tomorrow, for once."

"You might—“ Lorna laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his mouth “—your kid? Probably not."

"Not even born and already a trouble maker? Sounds suspiciously like her mother."

Without warning, but with great care, Marcos reaches down and lifts Lorna off her feet. A shrill, surprised noises squeaks past her lips as she clings tighter to his neck, and it turns into another laugh, warm against his ear as she tucks herself against him. He delivers her to their bed, gently laying her down before crawling in beside her. They assume their regular position of tangled legs and arms, Lorna as close as possible, her head resting against his chest, her hand over his heart.

Between them, without warning, the colorful lights of an aurora start to glow and spin and twist. The more time that passes, the closer they get to the end of the pregnancy, the more frequently they appear. Lorna beams at Marcos through the darkness, and the unborn child moves in answer between them, butterfly kicks he can feel against his own ribs where Lorna is pressed close.

"I forgot to tell you," Lorna yawns, closing her eyes and nestling closer, "but Caitlin said she has a surprise for us tomorrow."

"A surprise?" Marcos murmurs, sleep threatening him, "You always used to tell me you hated surprises."

"I did, but that was before."

"Before what?"

"I found you."

Marcos wakes up to sunlight streaming through the beaded curtains of their bedroom window, and an empty space where Lorna should have been.

His first reaction is to panic, immediately shocked out of the heady haze of sleep. He rolls over in bed, swinging his feet onto the floor, and that's when he sees the note on the bedside table next to his burner phone. With a little more composure he grabs it, bringing it close to read.

Down in the garden with Sonia. Love you. xo

Marcos sighs, falling back into the bed, his feet still planted firmly on the ground, the note crumpled in one hand. He gives his heart a moment to regulate the breakneck pace at which it's currently racing, using his other hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. Once his pulse is no longer galloping inside his head, he sits up again, and slowly makes his way to the shower before getting dressed and resolving to return to the real world below.

He passes familiar faces on the way down. Shatter and a few new recruits are carrying more cots up the stairs, and Zingo trots by on the ground level without a passing glance, on a mission in the direction of the kitchen for breakfast scraps. Marcos heads to the back of their destitute building, to the small garden Sonia managed to create on the large stone steps leading to the courtyard, long ruined by whatever devastation once touched this place.

When he steps outside, the spring weather greets him, crisp and cool. He immediately spots the two women among the wooden crates scattered along the steps. Sonia is pruning overgrown green vegetation, and Lorna follows behind her, her own set of gardening clippers floating in the air above her, spinning around in lazy figure eights without achieving much of their intended purpose. He can vaguely hear them chattering as they move, accompanied by the occasional sound of laughter.

He tries to think of the number of times he’s seen Lorna like this, relatively free of worry, genuinely happy, smiling in earnest as if their world weren’t on the verge of falling apart around them. He takes a seat on the broken steps, content to watch her until she spots him. It never takes long for her to find him when he’s close by. She jokes that she has a special sixth sense reserved just for him, but it’s true, and seconds later she turns in his direction. Their eyes meet from across the garden, and her face lights up when she smiles at him.

She grabs Sonia’s arm, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, but she's still looking at him, grinning. Marcos watches with narrowed eyes and mock suspicion, but he grins too, chin is his hands, his face bright with boyish mirth as she starts to make her way toward him.

“Buenos dias,” Marcos watches the way the sunlight hits her hair just so, the dimples of her face when she grins at him, “you look beautiful.”

“Good morning,” Lorna stops on a lower step in front of him, running her hand though his messy hair he did not take the time to comb, smoothing it back out with a shake of her head, “I see I’m not the only one who forgot to brush my hair this morning, sleep good, huh?”

The question is posed in jest, but he can't bring himself to answer. Despite the fact that they both know a lie of omission is still a lie, it’s easier than admitting that neither of them ever sleep very well these days. She doesn’t press him, but her eyes are sad again. Marcos grabs her wrists, pulling her closer, and she leans forward to kiss him. This kiss is longer than it needs to be, soft, yearning, and Lorna has to force herself to pull away.

“Sit with me?”

Lorna shakes her head, and a new full-fledged smile breaks at the corners of her mouth.

“No, I need you to get up and come with me.”

Marcos tilts his head, curious, releasing her from his hold. She waves him up insistently, and with some effort he clambers back to his feet, wincing at the process. Lorna can’t help but chuckle, watching him with mild amusement. She refrains from making any jokes about him getting old, or saying "now you know how I feel", an unusual mercy for her to grant him. The lack of torment on her part gives way to real suspicion on his. Once he’s up, she grabs his hand, lacing her ringed fingers through his.

“Caitlin’s surprise is ready,” Lorna explains as she pulls him back up the steps to go inside. Marcos follows obediently, having completely forgotten. Lorna’s excitement is palpable, her expression openly cheery, a rarity for the fellow mutants they pass in the hall that are mainly familiar with her scowl.

“Do you know what it is?”

Lorna grins at his question.

“I might have found out,” after the admission, Lorna makes sure to add emphasis absolving her of any crimes, “but by accident.”

“Aha. I’m sure it was an accident,” Marcos raises an eyebrow, “and I’m sure that you didn’t accidentally go out of your way at all to accidentally find out.”

Lorna tugs his hand in retaliation at his less than subtle insinuation of her guilt, her scowl making a brief appearance, but her eyes remain bright with exuberance. Marcos quickly realizes that they’re headed in the direction of their makeshift delivery room, the place where Caitlin spends most of her time these days pouring over human variant medical journals and textbooks, in preparation for the midwife she’ll have to be in the weeks to come.

Marcos almost blanches at the thought. It terrifies him to think that in almost no time at all he will be a father, that they will be parents. He steals a sideways glance at Lorna, and the flare of fear abates in her presence, the wayward, doubtful thoughts assuaged by the feel of her hand wrapped in his. He has nothing but adoration for her, and it swells in his chest, makes his throat tight with emotion. Lorna has been fearless throughout all of this, despite being sick the majority of the pregnancy, despite the doubts and the uncertainties they’ve both battled. It doesn't surprise him though, because Lorna has always been that way—resolute and determined, fierce in ways he's never been able to be himself.

Marcos is certain he cannot love her more, but Lorna never fails to find new ways to prove him wrong.

“Well? What is it?”

Marcos’ question hangs in the air between them as they come to a stop at Caitlin’s closed door. Lorna pauses before opening it, quickly leaning over to kiss his cheek. She gives a slight flick of her wrist, the door swinging back, green currents of energy twisting in and out between her fingertips.

“Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

Lorna watches Marcos' intently as they enter the room, more eager to see the look of surprise on his face than she is the actual surprise they’re here for. Weeks ago he and John had worked endlessly to restore this room on the lower level to functioning order, reworking the plumbing for running water, rewiring the electric and fixing the floor and walls.

He hasn't seen it sense their part of the project was finished, and now he stands beside her, marveling at the transformation. It's a miniature hospital room, complete with the proper medical storage Caitlin has needed for months, cabinets full of supplies they've collected, a proper exam table, a hospital bed. The collection of items are used and worn, sent from different sympathizers all over the state, but they feel new given how long they've desperately needed a set up like this for the underground.

The best part is that it has Cait's touch, and instead of feeling cold and sterile, the room is warm and welcoming. The windows face west, where they'll let the evening light in, and artwork from Cait's school kids already decorate the wall above a small desk in the corner along with the shelf that houses her growing book collection on human variant medicine.

"What do you think?"

Cait appears from a small utility closet on the far side of the room, blonde hair tied back and eyes crinkled and bright. Esme appears behind her, carrying a small box of supplies. Cait has taken the telepath under her wing, training Esme to assist her in various tasks, studying under her as an apprentice of sorts. She nods in acknowledgement at Lorna and Marcos, blue eyes gentle and kind, a soft spoken hello passing between them as she steps around and goes to sort the contents of the box into the cabinets.

"I don't know what to say," Marcos' eyes roam over the room, part in wonder, part in relief, "it's wonderful, Caitlin. It’s perfect, thank you."

"You're welcome, but it wouldn't have happened without you and John," Cait grins, appraising the small medical paradise now at her disposal. Lorna has Marcos' hand captured in hers, holding it so tightly he has to wiggle his fingers to make her loosen her grip. She dips her head in apology, but her eagerness leaves no room for real remorse.

"Lorna's already figured out the surprise," Cait's tone is motherly and reprimanding, but she’s amused at Lorna’s childlike excitement, "I'm assuming you'd like to know what it is too. Esme, are we ready?"

"Ready," Esme replies, no longer putting away supplies. She's in the corner of the room, rolling something toward them, coming to a stop at the side of the exam table. It's covered by a sheet, almost waist high, and all three of the women are smiling suspiciously between one another. Caitlin waves Lorna over, patting the exam table for her to sit. Lorna pulls Marcos with her, trying to ignore the brief wave of dizziness that often accompanies her anytime she moves too quickly these days. Marcos' sense are so finally in tune with her, he doesn't miss the way she takes a deeper breath than normal, and he gives her his classic look of concern as he helps her take a seat. He knows better than to ask her out loud, knowing how much she hates when he frets in front of everyone, but she squeezes his hand to reassure him.

Esme removes the sheet from the mysterious object, and Marcos becomes very, very still.

"Is that a--"

"An ultrasound machine," Cait finishes with glee, leaning against the unit and patting the top of the computer monitor proudly, "a Combison 310, to be exact. It's an early 90s model, but it works."

"Wait, so this means—this means—" Marcos can't even complete the sentence, words lost in light of the realization as it hits him.

"We get to see the baby," Lorna replies, "we get to see our baby."

Marcos laughs, the sound pure and good and perfect it's as if it lights up the room all over again. Lorna cherishes that sound more than anything, she lives for the look of pure bliss on his face in moments like this, and she does her very best to commit both sound and sight to memory. He pulls her hand to his mouth, presses a kiss to the back of it, the exhaustion from the past week erased from his face by overwhelming, unadulterated joy.

"But how did you manage to get it?" Marcos stares at the machine, floored, fingers reaching out to touch it in reverence, "This kind of equipment costs thousands of dollars, maybe more."

"I spent one of my rotations in nursing school under an OB/GYN that went private practice after the mutant laws went into affect, I reached out to her a few weeks ago and found out she's retiring this year," Cait uncurls the power chord and hands it to Esme. "I explained as much of our situation as I could, and she wanted to donate to the cause. We'll be able to use it for a lot here, but this," she smiles, gesturing at Lorna and Marcos, "this is why I really wanted it."

"But why?" Marcos wonders aloud, "Why would she do that?"

Following Marcos’ question the air becomes still and heavy. Cait looks to Esme, the two women exchanging forlorn glances. Lorna pulls Marcos' hand to her stomach, letting it rest there with her own, their baby just beneath their entwined fingers. Something simmers in the green of her eyes, a flash of anger Marcos knows all too well, and his brow knits in worry, though he forces himself to wait for an explanation.

He can feel the baby kick, a restless flutter. Could it be that their unborn child could already feel it’s mothers rage? Or understand it? His heart aches at the thought.

"Her son passed away during on July 15th,” Lorna’s words are quiet, somber, spoken from between clenched teeth, “he was a mutant."

There is a moment of silence that swallows the room, and every reason, every injustice he's ever witnessed, every abuse he's been privy to his entire mutant life comes racing back to him in a heartbeat. Fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, all victims of this war they've been fighting against each other—blood on blood on blood. Marcos stands frozen beside Lorna, now clinging to her hand like an anchor. He thinks about the streets of Bogota where he spent his childhood, about the stories Lorna has told him of her own, and the scars they both carry as a result. He thinks about the lives he's taken to save his own, and to save Lorna. He thinks about the lives he would take to protect his own child.

Would it ever stop?

Would he ever be able to keep them safe?

Caitlin’s hand finds his shoulder, pulling him out of the darkness of his thoughts.

“For what it’s worth, we are going to make this world better,” Cait rolls the ultrasound closer, “but we can’t do it by living in the past, we have to do it by living for the future. Now, let's look at this kid."

Marcos sits on the end of the exam table, next to Lorna’s feet where they dangle off the edge. She’s reclined against the headrest, attempting to wear her best poker face as she watches Cait walk Esme through the steps of prepping the machine. Her eyes are what give her away, a mixture of worry clouding them, dampening the animated excitement that had been there before. He knows she struggles in these moments of vulnerability, in giving parts of herself to other people, a fine tuned fear of the uncontrollable and unknown.

But Marcos can see what Lorna can’t. It’s during these moments that she is bravest, and that is when he loves her most.

“Ready?” Cait asks over her shoulder, one handing holding the part of the machine she had called the transducer, the other making adjustments on the monitor.

“Here,” Esme hands a nondescript squeeze bottle to Marcos, before glancing at Lorna with a small grin, “that’s the ultrasound gel, you’ll want to make sure you cover you entire stomach pretty well. I figure Marcos can do the honors. It’s kinda cold, just so you know.”

The telepath turns away, busies herself consulting Cait on the preliminary ultrasound readings in attempts to give them what little privacy she can. Marcos looks up at Lorna, and she nods in permission, carefully pulling up the hem of her sweater above her round belly. This part, the baring herself to the world, having to share something that has been so private, is difficult. She does it with as much grace as Lorna Dane can possibly muster, a feet in itself. Pregnancy and all it’s handicaps have not suited her; being fawned over and treated as fragile have only served to make her more irritable, much to the dismay of those in the underground who were unfortunate enough to cross her on a bad day.

“What if something’s wrong?” Lorna looks at Marcos, suddenly anxious, hugging her arms closer.

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Marcos muses aloud, carefully coating Lorna’s pale skin with the clear gel, and she scrunches her nose at the chill of it, “at worse she’ll come out kicking and screaming, looking for a fight, just like her mother.”

Lorna jerks her knee into Marcos back, and his smile turns into a grimace.

“I was kidding.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Fine, I was mostly kidding.”

Lorna’s eyes are narrowed in faux exasperation, but it’s short lived. She reaches for Marcos’ hand after he hands the gel back to Esme, the worry on her face returning. He laces his fingers through hers, and Cait turns to face them, transducer wand in hand.

“Ready?”

Lorna’s grip on his hand tightens, and she nods.

Cait steps forward, and with great care she places the flat surface of the transducer to Lorna’s skin. She runs it gently over the slope of Lorna’s stomach, lips pressed in a thin line of concentration, moving with calculated precision. All eyes are on the ultrasound monitor, unmoving. The room is completely silent except for the gentle whirring of the machine, and the next few seconds feel like hours, until Marcos sees it.

The screen, once a blank void, materializes first into an unrecognizable, grainy black and white landscape. Then the flat image starts to take shape, coming into focus, so clear, so real, Marcos feels like he could reach out and touch it. He’s frozen, as is Lorna, their eyes locked on the little curled fists and tiny feet that materialize, the outline of a nose, a face, a mouth that yawns. The tiny owner is already bored with entertaining them, kicks out with both feet, visibly announcing disinterest in the the gathered crowd.

Noise fills the room, a steady endless echo that beats in time with the flutter of movement on the screen.

“Is that—”

Marcos chokes up. He can feel tears at the edges of his eyes. He sways, dizzy with emotion, one hand clinging to Lorna, the other gripping the bed to keep himself upright.

“It’s her heart.”

Her heart.

Marcos sucks in a breath, a gasp for air, and next to him Lorna’s laugh sounds more like a cry of relief as she covers her mouth.

Her heart.

Strong and beating, inexplicably real, undeniably alive.

“It’s a girl?” Lorna asks softly, her own cheeks already damp, her eyes failing to contain the tears.

“From what I can see, it’s definitely a girl,” Cait confirms, her grin the widest in the room. “Her heart rate is normal. Here and here,” she points at the screen, “these measurements around her head, how long she is, all normal. I’ll make sure we save stills of these shots, for us to study, but she’s perfect.”

“Aurora,” Marcos murmurs, still fiercely gripping the bed, his head spinning, the sound of his daughters heartbeat flooding the room, and his head, “her name is Aurora.”

“Aurora,” Esme repeats, her voice soft and musical in time with their daughter’s heartbeat. Esme is studying the ultrasound monitor as she speaks, and the image wavers, disappears and comes back, the baby’s miniature hands move as if in answer. Marcos turns to Lorna, and then Cait as she adjusts the transducer again. Once more the image flutters, disappearing and coming back into focus.

“Is that normal?” Lorna asks, “what the screen is doing?”

“Yes and no,” Cait replies, watching the monitor carefully.

“Wait,” Esme reaches out, touches Cait’s shoulder to still her, becoming very still herself. Cait glances at the telepath, eyebrow raised in question. Esme’s brow furrows, and she turns from the screen to Lorna and Marcos, her mouth open as if to speak, but the words are caught in her throat. Her blue eyes are filled with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

“I have to ask,” Esme touches Lorna’s shoulder, as if to ground her from whatever she just felt, “may I look at your thoughts?”

Marcos holds his breath at Esme’s request, and looks to Lorna to gauge her reaction. The infinite landscape inside Lorna’s mind is unexplainable, impossible to imagine. She has spent her entire life trying to control it, and Marcos has watched her struggle, as well as succeed, at conquering the monsters she lives with. What Esme is asking is the most someone could ever ask of the woman lying on the bed beside her. No one else has ever actually seen the things Lorna sees, the demons she lives with, the fears that she carries, not even Marcos. She would never ask that of anyone. She would never want to subject them to the chaos of the daily war she fights inside her head.

Lorna and Esme exchange glances, something passing between the women that Marcos can’t explain. Lorna is torn, the corners of her lips turned down in trepidation. Closing her eyes in resignation, she nods.

“Ok.”

Esme bows her head, and takes a step closer to the bedside, her hand finding Lorna’s shoulder. Cait kneels down beside them, readjusting the transducer, eyes still on the flickering screen. Esme’s eyes shift and change, brilliant and blindingly blue as she stares into the unknown.

The screen darkens and reappears again, but Aurora’s heartbeat seems louder, stronger than before.

“It’s not you,” Esme shakes her head in wonder, peers intently at Lorna, and then at the rise of her stomach, and the child hidden inside, “I thought it was you.”

“What do you mean?” Marcos asks, confused at Esme’s vague explanation. The telepath is at a loss for words, and as she continues to stare, eyes distant. They begin to glisten, clearly overwhelmed by what she’s witnessing in the visions beyond the world they can see.

“It’s not you I hear,” Esme holds tight to Lorna’s shoulder, “it’s her.”

Marcos stares at Lorna, a new wave of emotion flooding his veins with warmth, constricting his chest. The feeling rises into his throat as a broken laugh, a cry of disbelief, somehow working it’s way into the open. Lorna is desperately trying to contain herself, but her composure is long broken, her expression indescribable.

“Esme,” Cait cautions, seeing that she’s struggling to remain composed, “are you ok?”

“She’s so clear, she’s so loud, never in my life…” the bright light of Esme’s eyes fade, and she reels from the effort, steadying herself as she sways.

Lorna reaches for Esme’s wrist, and the gentle touch brings the telepath back to them. She is crying.

“What did you hear? What did she say?”

“She knows that you love her, and she already loves you. She loves you so very much.”

She knows that you love her.

Marcos is sprawled across their bed, Lorna’s arm draped lazily across his chest, skin to skin. She is warm, perfectly curled into his side where she is meant to be, the swell of her stomach nestled between them. Every now and then Marcos can feel the baby kick, and his fingers stroke the skin of Lorna’s stomach to pacify her. He murmurs, soft whispers no one can hear, and she falls still again.

She knows. The thought still sits at the forefront of his mind, at the revelation they’d had in the delivery room. He’s struggled to contain the flood of emotions he’s had since then, as has Lorna, both of them crying and laughing and tangled in each other’s arms in private once they’d returned to their bed.

Lorna’s hand traces lazy circles across Marcos’ chest, her eyes closed. Marcos grabs it, curls her fingers up in his. He presses a kiss to her knuckles, and then the top of her head, breathing her in, wishing they could stay here forever just like this.

Their nights have often been spent in hushed conversation, fears of the future voiced to one another, forever wondering if bringing a child into this world was something they could do—wondering if they would fail as parents, if they could give their child everything it would need to thrive in the insanity of their world. Tonight they find solace in silence instead, for once not worried about the unknowns of parenting that lie ahead.

Despite their fears and their worries, despite the chaos and the danger of what might lie ahead, they have an unborn daughter who is already aware of the most important thing she’ll ever need to remember for the rest of her life.

That their love for her is infinite.

If that’s the only thing they get right, it will be enough.

[sugaabooga]

Beauty and the Beast | 1

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Fairytale, Prince!Jimin

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None

Synopsis: The cocky Prince Jimin is cursed into a beast and erased from all the citizens’ minds. It just so happens that he holds hostage of your brother who accidentally found out the prince’s private living quarters. And trust me when I say, you weren’t going down without a fight.

You wake up to hear the birds chirping and the light streaming through the curtains. You blink several times before adjusting to the brightness of the room. You sigh and sit up.

You knew today was going to be no different from the day before, or week before, or several years before. Every single day was the same and you were growing tired of it. You wished, someday, you would be able to travel away from the small, quiet village.

Aside from your somewhat depressing thoughts, you got up and changed into your simple dress. It wasn’t too flashy or poofy like the other girls in the town, but it also wasn’t too out-of-date.

You washed up and put on your boots. As you skipped to the door, you grabbed your basket to get some materials while you were out.

You open the door and stare at the blue sky with a few clouds painted across. It’s enough to bring a small smile on your face. No matter how small the village was, you did enjoy the peacefulness.

That is…

Until it’s eight o'clock.

As you were walking down the cobblestone ground, you heard good mornings being shared and small conversations being held. You looked around, knowingly.

‘The baker should be out by now,’ you thought. Then, there he appeared and you immediately smiled. You walked over and bid him a good morning. You left the coins on the tray and took the loaf of bread. You passed by the school and overheard some of the kids saying, “There goes that strange girl.”

“She is always dazed and distracted, can’t you tell?” the headmaster says. You mentally roll your eyes.

The townsfolk always knew you as the strange girl who is different from everyone else. You loved to read and almost always had your nose stuck in a book. You didn’t mind the judging stares people gave you when you passed by. If they kept the disrespect away from the rest of your family, it was fine with you.

You hear the daily arguing of the woman and the seller of the overpriced eggs as you enter the bookshop. It was probably the quietest place in town.

“Oh. Not surprised to see you here Y/N,” the bookkeeper, Wonwoo says with a smile on his face.

“Who else would come here besides me?” you smile back. He steps down the ladder and leans on his broom.

“So. What are you here for today?”

“I was just wondering if you had any new books arrive this week.”

“Sadly, no,” he frowns. “You can come back next week. I’m sure there will be books arriving.”

“Alright. But first,” you hand him the book you had borrowed a few days ago.

“You’re already done with it?” he asks in surprise. “It took me a least two weeks to finish it.”

“I read it in three days. It was too good to put down,” you sheepishly grin. You run your fingers over the spine of “To keep me busy, can I borrow this book?”

“Of course,” Wonwoo immediately agrees. “But didn’t you read that before?”

“I love this book. It’s probably my favorite one!” you smooth out the cover.

“You can keep it if you’d like,” he offers.

“Really!?”

“Of course!” he pats your head and pushes you out the door before you can start objecting.

“Thanks, Wonwoo!” you wave and he waves back before going back to organize the little collection of books.

You skip through the town and wonder how life would be so perfect if it were like a book. A normal girl who meets Prince Charming and after that, happily ever after. But you knew that life would never be so easy and perfect in just a snap of fingers. You, in fact, knew that it would be harder for you to live a normal life. As hard as you were trying to, people viewed you as the strange girl in the town. Who cared if you were so pretty and attractive? You needed to blend in, which you weren’t so good at.

Maybe that was why you caught the eye of so many. One of the many being Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook.

He was a bit of a bother to the townspeople, but he somehow always got away with the things he did. To be honest, he was great at dancing, art, running, hunting, anything athletic, really. And on top of that, he was extremely good looking. Well, to everyone except for you and your family.

“Just look at her, Yugyeom,” Jungkook said with a smile that almost resembled a bunny. “One day, she’ll finally realize I’m the only one for her and say yes when I ask her out.”

“Her?” Yugyeom almost scoffs. He knew why Jungkook fell for her. She was beautiful, but she was also different. And Jungkook liked different. Yugyeom was friends with Jungkook, longer than he could even remember. There wasn’t a single thing that he didn’t know about him. So, he knew that Jungkook hated the three girls who always called after him whenever he went into the village. Jungkook always wanted a smart, independent girl who knew what she was doing. The three girls, however, were always screaming and giggling right behind him. And it annoyed him. A lot.

“What?” Jungkook asks a little discouraged.

“I mean…” Yugyeom hesitates. “She’s so… bright. And you… are bright in athletic terms.”

“It’s meant to be.” Jungkook grins and starts down the hill, on his horse. Yugyeom sighs at his friend and follows after him. 

When they both entered through the gates, Jungkook explains his repeated story of how he fell in love with you.

“Right from that day at the bakery, I realized she was the one. She sure is different, but what’s good if she’s the same as the rest of the-”

“Three girls at two o'clock,” Yugyeom alerts him.

Jungkook turns that way and immediately regrets it. The three girls, was it Momo, Seolhyun, and Jennie? They weren’t ugly. Anyone could see that. In fact, they were known as the prettiest women in the whole village until you were seen out in the market. After that, the three girls were forgotten about. Nevertheless, the girls despised you. You had not only gotten the attention of the townspeople, but also had gotten the attention of Jeon Jungkook which they believed was theirs.

And that was the thing that made them flip.

“Jungkook-ah!” Seolhyun waves with a wide smile. If it was any other man, he would’ve fallen for her charms immediately. But it was Jungkook who had his eyes set on you only.

Jungkook barely nods and jumps off his horse. He still feels three pairs of eyes on him and he gestures at Yugyeom. This happened frequently, so Yugyeom knew what to do.

Heck. Even Jungkook’s horse knew what to do.

The horse started to dig its back heel into the mud and gradually got faster. Right when the three girls clambered out, the horse kicked with all his might and splattered mud all over their dresses. 

“Ahh!”

“This is my favorite dress!”

“It’s in my mouth! And my hair!”

Yugyeom looks at them with pity. “I’m sorry ladies. But it’s never going to happen.”

Jungkook stifles his laugh at the sight. He swiftly turns around and tries to find you in the busy area. He then spots you and quickly jogs to the florist’s cart. He purchases a bouquet of several different flowers and weaves his way through the crowds of people to get to you.

“Y/N!” you hear making you stop for a second. Then, you realize whose voice that belonged to.

Your eyes widen and you make your legs walk faster. You think you’re getting away, but then you internally groan when you feel a hand on your shoulder. 

Maybe it wasn’t an internal groan because you were sure you saw a flash of hurt in his eyes.

“Hello,” you force a strained smile.

“Hey,” he hands you the flowers rather nervously. “I was wondering if you had any plans for dinner tonight?”

“Yes,” You’re afraid you might’ve answered a bit too quickly because you saw the edge of his lip quirk up.

“Busy?”

You hear him ask, uncertainly. You tried not to look in his eyes because no matter how you disliked the guy, you couldn’t reject his doe-like eyes.

“No…” You look up for a nanosecond to see his confused expression and then start to run back home.

Jungkook smiles, almost sadly, at your retreating back.

“What did she say?” Yugyeom asks with a blank face.

“She…”

Yugyeom squints at Jungkook for an answer and Jungkook shrugs in response.

“Said she’s busy.”

“Face it Jungkook,” Yugyeom shakes his head, showing pity towards his hopeless friend. “She doesn’t-”

“Hmm. Maybe, today wasn’t the day,” Jungkook interrupts, then turns to Yugyeom with a grin. “Wanna get lunch?”

You turn around to make sure Jungkook hasn’t chased you all the way home.

Which he has done before.

You trudge up the porch steps and sigh. “Soonyoung-oppa!”

You knock on the door when your brother doesn’t answer.

No answer.

“YAH!” you pound on the door. “OPEN UP BEFORE I BURN ALL YOUR SHINEE RECORDS!”

The door opens abruptly and you are met with the sight of Kwon Soonyoung.

Your older brother.

“YOU BETTER NOT! IF YOU DO-”

You push past him and collapse on the small pile of folded clothes. The door shuts right in Soonyoung’s face when he turns around to yell at you. You lean against the wall and watch as Soonyoung flings open the door and storms in the house.

“WHERE ARE THE RECORDS!? DID YOU BURN THEM ALREADY!?” he shouts with a panicked expression.

You giggle at the sight. “Calm down. I didn’t burn them.”

He sighs out of relief.

“Yet,” you add with a grin.

Soonyoung shoots you a glare before he sits back down at his desk. There’s a moment of silence before Soonyoung speaks up. “It’s only morning. Why do you look so tired?”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you state, without opening your eyes. Soonyoung lets out a laugh but doesn’t take his own eyes off of his drawing.

“He still likes you!?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that he likes to chase me around and try to eat dinner with me every other day.”

Soonyoung looks up at you and shakes his head with a silly grin on his face.“I never knew my sister was so popular.”

You open your eyes to glare at him. “I’m not. Don’t you hear the rumors?”

Soonyoung’s eyes slightly widen at your words. “What rumors?” He’s no longer looking at his drawings and instead, fixing his concerned eyes right at your defeated expression.

“The ‘Oh she’s so strange’ and ‘She doesn’t fit in anywhere.’ Or ‘Look at her. The only girl who has her nose in a book.’” you mimic the townspeople’s words.

Soonyoung’s expression only softens and a small smile appears on his face. “Y/N.”

You look up to meet his eyes.

“You’ll never influence the world by being just like it. Being different will do more change than being the same and blending in.”

You let the words settle in and watch as Soonyoung goes back to his drawings.

You look down at your hands. “Remember our parents?”

“Of course. I don’t remember much of them, but why do you ask?”

“Sometimes I think it would’ve been better if they hadn’t died,” you sigh. “Usually I think that it’s good that they passed away since they would be suffering right now too, with us. But then… I wonder if they hadn’t died, we wouldn’t have gone to auntie and uncle. Then, Shua and June wouldn’t have-”

“Y/N,” Soonyoung softly interrupts.

You look up, almost pleading with your eyes. “Please tell me what happened.”

“Don’t I deserve to know?” you say softly. “I was closest to both of them.”

“Just…” Soonyoung starts.

You look up hopefully.

“You’ll get to know the whole story one day. When we’re both ready,” he smiles.

You sigh in exasperation. Whenever you brought up your cousins, Soonyoung would shut right up and change the subject as quickly as he could.

You glare at Soonyoung as he gets up and carefully places the notebook full with the moves of his dances in his sack.

Soonyoung was a passionate dancer. He always made new choreographies and drew them out. After he completed a dance, he took them to a man named Seungcheol. Very rarely, he would actually meet Seungcheol when he dropped them off at his home. When he did happen to see Seungcheol, they would practice the dance and see how it actually looks when performed. They would work it out and sometimes gain a few other men to join them in the dance. They would perform it at the center of several villages and hopefully earn some money from gracious townspeople.

“I have to drop this off at Seungcheol’s cottage. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

You nod and go out the house with him to greet him goodbye. He mounted his horse and attached the small wagon.

“I’ll be stopping by any big markets I see while coming back. Do you want me to get you anything?”

You hum in thought. You had always asked him for books or certain materials that were very, very rare in such a small village like yours. But at that moment, you just wanted something simple that you didn’t see much of.

You gently scratch behind the horse’s ear before you answer.

“A rose,” you tilt your head up at Soonyoung. “Just one single rose.”